I locked eyes with Celeste across the hall. The sibling connection snapped taut between us—that rare telepathic bond some wolf siblings shared, the one we'd discovered as children and never discussed with anyone else.
I've waited so long for this, I sent through the link, satisfaction sharp as a blade. For everyone to finally see what you really are.
Her mental laughter rolled back, arrogant and dismissive despite the enforcers gripping her arms. Please. I'll escape this like I've escaped everything else. A few tears, some well-placed apologies, maybe claim the journals were fiction, creative writing. Father will cave. He always does.
Not this time.
I shoved the first memory through our connection with brutal force.
The vision slammed into her consciousness: Weston's bare back flexing as he thrust between her spread thighs, his groans mixing with her theatrical moans. The timestamp overlaying it all—the exact moment Ava went under the water three floors below.
Celeste's mental voice came back light, almost bored. That's just your imagination running wild. Grief making you see things that never happened. I don't remember any of this.
I pushed harder. Ava's lifeless body in my arms, yellow dress plastered to cold skin, those beautiful blue eyes staring at nothing. The crushing weight of maternal agony as I'd pressed uselessly against her tiny chest, begging her to breathe.
The agony transferred through our link. Celeste's body jerked in the enforcers' grip, her eyes widening as she experienced the full force of what I'd felt holding my dead daughter.
Then Mother's form sprawled in the rose garden, throat torn open, blood painting white petals crimson.
No! Celeste's mental voice cracked for the first time. I would never plan matricide! That's insane! You're making this up, Harper, you're—
"Formal trial proceedings begin tomorrow at dawn," Father announced, his voice carrying Beta authority that demanded silence. "Celeste Evernight stands accused of attempted murder, systematic poisoning, and conspiracy to harm pack succession. The evidence will be examined, witnesses called, judgment rendered according to pack law."
The enforcers hauled Celeste to her feet, their grip iron. She struggled weakly, the aconite still hampering her strength, her wolf too weak to mount real resistance.
I saved the best for last.
The memory flooded through our connection with the force of a dam breaking: Celeste's blade against my throat, her breath warm on my ear as she whispered her confession. Every orchestrated tragedy. Every false accusation. Every person she'd manipulated against me. Her laughter as she admitted paying someone to drown Ava. The satisfaction in her voice when she described murdering Mother and framing me.
"You were never supposed to have anything," her recorded words echoed through the mental link. "Everything was always meant to be mine."
The silver bite. Hot blood pouring down my chest. Darkness devouring me whole.
Celeste's laughter erupted—high, manic, completely unhinged. The sound cut through the hall, making wolves step back instinctively. She doubled over in the enforcers' grip, cackling until tears streamed down her face.
The hall fell into horrified silence.
She lifted her head, fixing me with eyes gone wild and feverish. "I'd do it all again," she announced, voice clear despite the laughter still bubbling beneath. "Every single moment. Every manipulation. Every poison. Every lie." Her smile stretched too wide. "With joy, Harper. I'd destroy you with absolute joy."
Her body convulsed then, the mental assault combining with the aconite to overwhelm her system. She screamed through the seizure, back arching, fingers clawing at air.
"What is she talking about?" Mother demanded, her voice shrill with confusion and dawning horror. She clutched Ava tighter, the baby finally quiet against her grandmother's shoulder. "Celeste, what are you saying?"
"I'd kill Ava!" Celeste shrieked through the convulsions, foam flecking her lips. "Gladly! I'd murder you too, Mother, if it meant Harper lost everything! I'd destroy her at any cost! Any price!"
The confession echoed off stone walls. Wolves backed away from her like she carried plague. Even the enforcers holding her looked sick.
Her body went limp, consciousness fleeing from the combined assault. They caught her before she hit the ground, her head lolling, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
"Get her to the holding cells," Father ordered, his voice hollow. "Under guard. No visitors."
They dragged her away, her feet scraping against the floor. For a split second, I felt silence and emptiness where the desire for revenge had been growing.
* * *
The news reached us hours later, delivered by a Wolfhart runner: Kieran had arrived at Weston's estate to find him weeping over Raven's corpse. My friend's body lay broken in the bedroom, neck snapped, the destruction Weston had wrought in drunken fury finally claiming its victim.
The enforcers who'd responded to my alarm took Weston into custody. He didn't fight. Just knelt beside Raven's body and sobbed until they hauled him away.
His trial lasted three days. The evidence was overwhelming—Raven's colleagues testified to his violence, pack members recounted his instability. The council stripped his Alpha title before pronouncing the sentence.
"One hundred years imprisonment," the head elder declared. "For the murder of Enforcer Raven Blackwood, for attempted forced marking of a fated mate, for conduct unbecoming an Alpha."
His mother's desperate pleas saved him from execution. Raven's colleagues had demanded the right to justice—their own brutal brand delivered in private. But mercy won by the thinnest margin.
Celeste's trial followed immediately. Her journals, Dr. Holland's reports, the pack's witnessed confession—the evidence buried her. But since she'd planned murders without completing them in this timeline, exile became her sentence.
"Banished from Silvercrest and all allied territories," Father pronounced, his voice dead. "Forever. Your name will be struck from pack records. You are no longer my daughter."
I didn't watch her leave. Didn't need to see her escorted beyond our borders with nothing but the clothes she wore. The knowledge that she'd wander forever distant, her face unknown to any pack who might shelter her, brought profound relief.
My revenge was complete. Not through my hands, but through her own words sealing her fate. The pack had heard her confession. Witnessed her madness. Understood exactly what lived beneath the golden wolf-girl's mask.
Ava stirred against my chest, small fingers curling in my shirt. I pressed my lips to her downy hair and breathed deep.
She was safe. Celeste was gone. Weston was caged. And somewhere beyond these walls, my true mate waited for us to come home.
Finally home.